


riots and regalia

by boom_goes_the_canon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Injuries, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28262970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_goes_the_canon/pseuds/boom_goes_the_canon
Summary: “No, really, what was the riot about?”“The Infinite. Truth. Beauty. Death.” Jehan sighs dramatically. Good. He’s recovering.“How lovely.”“But also, a man stole my poetry book. I punched him.”“Serves him right.”
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16





	riots and regalia

“Hold still,” Bahorel tells Jehan, running his fingers over Jehan’s bleeding knuckles. Jehan, looking pale and wan, burrows further into the couch and refuses to show his face.

This was a bad sign. If Jehan was okay, he would be languishing dramatically right about now. The mere fact that he wasn’t already commemorating the riot in epic poetry was concerning. Bahorel wipes the last of the blood from his hand and examines it. He is an authority on these matters, after all.

“There’s a reason I start the riots, my dear,” he says, trying for casual and missing it by a mile.

“I wanted to try it myself.”

“Well, you don’t punch with your thumb inside your fist. You’ll break your thumb.”

“Is it broken?” Jehan asks, his voice small.

Bahorel shakes his head. “Beginner’s luck,” he proclaims, and goes to fetch water to wash the wound, brandy to drink and clean the wound, and Jehan’s favorite book of poems.

When the wound is wrapped and clean, and both of their glasses were clean, Jehan looks much better. There’s color in his cheeks, and he’s looking at Bahorel like he’s having ideas, most of them impolite and not fit for the observation of society.

“Oh no,” Bahorel says, in his best scolding tone. “You keep your hands to yourself, Prouvaire—” He yelps as Jehan makes a grab for him. “Careful!”

“Your clothes are offensive,” Jehan proclaims, but he sits still and lets Bahorel cuddle him. “A horror for the eyes.”

“I may say the same of you.” At least his clothes weren’t stained with blood. “No, really, what was the riot about?”

“The Infinite. Truth. Beauty. Death.” Jehan sighs dramatically. Good. He’s recovering.

“How lovely.”

“But also, a man stole my poetry book. I punched him.”

“Serves him right.”

“I wish he would have punched me back. I’d love a nice scar.” He mimes one across his cheek, over his eye. “I would look quite dashing, I think, like a pirate of legend, with an eyepatch, sworn to revenge.”

Bahorel smiles and leans in to whisper. “I know a place where they sew pirate regalia, in whatever cut and color you can imagine. If you know the proper countersigns, they will also give you a peg leg.”

“A _peg leg_.” Jehan clasps his hands together and swoons. “I would love a peg leg.”

“We’ll get you one then, first thing in the morning, if you don’t bleed to death.”

“I promise not to,” Jehan says.


End file.
